A diverting-but-muddled mess.

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May 14, 2002

"Francis [Coppola] really tried to do things with his power. He made movies with Wim Wenders, produced The Black Stallion, produced George Lucas. George built Lucasland up there [in Marin County], his own private little duchy - which was producing what? A bunch of pap."

To soothe the scars of abuse heaped on audiences by the impotent direction and blatant racial stereotyping of Episode I - The Phantom Menace, the only criteria this installment really had to meet was: be better than its predecessor. Not a difficult task, and Attack of the Clones is an improvement over the tragedy witnessed three years ago. Alas, "better than Phantom Menace" still doesn't mean Clones is a particularly good movie.

As much as one wants to like AotC, it is the cinematic equivalent of that problem child we've all encountered at some point in our lives: no matter how deserving of love we may intellectually sense them to be, emotionally, it's really tough to like the kid because he or she is such a jackass. Episode II is a rudderless movie filled with non-acting from great actors, uneven pacing, inconsistent visual effects (some are wondrous, but many still look artificial and cartoony – I don't understand why most of the backgrounds in this "galaxy far, far away" look like they're drawn by sub-par students in some community water color class), all driven-on by clunky exposition and an unbreakable heart of stone. This movie is a zombie: it is alive, but it has no life.

This being said, writer/producer/director George Lucas & Co. have clearly gone through a great deal of effort to address numerous missteps made the last time around: the tapestry of improvements brought to the table here unfold with the succinct precision of a well-kept to do list. Episode I's dreary, drab aesthetic is replaced by deep and vivid colors (except for some of those odd backgrounds mentioned above). TPM¿s lackadaisical editing is substituted with Ben Burtt¿s much smoother assembly. AotC's meandering plot still evokes TPM's relatively unfocused narrative, but Clones offers a faster kind of tedium. Across the board, its shortcomings are nowhere near as remarkable as its progenitor. Even so, the fixers didn't go far enough, and there are still problems. Cancerous problems, relentlessly metastasizing throughout the SW theatrical franchise.

The indicators are insidious and inescapable. Chief among them: Attack of the Clones, like Phantom Menace before it, is a cold, cold movie. It skillfully touches on countless emotional pressure points, but never pulls us into its universe, or completely involves us with the personalities populating it. Much like a marginal high-school play, or an over-produced Cecil B. DeMille movie from long ago, AotC seems content to skirt along the perimeters of emotional resonance, but never commits to taking us on a journey of any substance. It is rarely involving, rarely rousing, and never stirring. It is deliberate and mechanical, and little more.

There are two primary factors fueling this anomaly. Firstly, and what few people realize, is that the generally-preferred Episode IV - A New Hope (the original Star Wars movie) and its sequel (Episode V - The Empire Strikes Back) were profoundly impacted by individuals no longer working with Lucas. One of them was a man named Gary Kurtz, who produced American Graffiti and the first two Star Wars films.

By the time Star Wars: Episode VI - Return of the Jedi rolled around, Kurtz and Lucas had parted ways, and Ewoks reigned supreme. If Kurtz were still involved with the franchise, the saga's complexion would be significantly different. His perspective repeatedly counter-balanced Lucas' initial (and sometimes reckless) desires. While still attached to RotJ, for example, there were to be no Ewoks. Kurtz was adamant the film should not be about attacking another Death Star – he didn't like the idea of blatantly repeating such a major conceit within the same trilogy. Also, as originally conceived, Jedi was to have concluded on a more dramatic, bleaker note: Han Solo would have died, Leia would have gone-on to lead the bedraggled remnants of her people, and Luke would have been left, essentially, alone in the galaxy he'd just helped free. These characters, brought together by fate, happenstance, and maybe a little bit of prophesy, were to have gone their own separate ways, and return to their own separate lives. A dose of reality in such a fantastic setting.

The prequels would have a different perspective as well: Episode I, for instance, was originally slated to be about The Clone Wars, and the formation of the Jedi Knights. A very different landscape, embracing a very different kind of storytelling than ultimately came our way. A kind of storytelling abandoned by Lucas in-favor of more self-indulgent, less daring whim.

Now liberated from the scrutiny and influence of people who do not always agree with his vision, Lucas creates without fear of encumbrance or rejection. Return of the Jedi, and (to a much larger extent) Episodes I, II and III represent his preferred, undiluted vision of Star Wars. If you like this new flavor in comparison to the first two films in the original cycle, more power to you. If you've ever wondered why everything after Empire smells so damn funky? Kurtz's departure is a major reason why.

Another element in the steely emotional core of these prequels is directly attributable to Lucas' widely-known disinterest in characters and their interactions. Harrison Ford (Han Solo, Indiana Jones) has noted this in numerous interviews. Lawrence Kasdan, co-scripter of The Empire Strikes Back, Return of the Jedi, and Raiders of the Lost Arkrecently pointed-out this deficit, as has Kurtz in an up-coming interview here on IGN FilmForce.

This shortcoming in itself is forgivable, as not everyone is a "people person." But, it is also catastrophic when left un-checked. Attack of the Clones is the story of a young man who has nothing, who is having trouble finding his place in the world (and acceptance from those around him). The harder he tries, the deeper the hole he digs for himself, and the more frustrated and angry he becomes. Until he ultimately falls towards darkness, embracing his bitterness to the point of genocidal psychosis.

THAT's one helluva story, and a passionate tale of intrinsic human failing which should easily hit a nerve in every audience member, even only just a little. But no such depth is evident here. In both Phantom Menace and Clones, there are no moments as elegantly simple or quietly affecting as Luke Skywalker gazing whimsically into the twin sunsets of Tatooine (in Episode IV), longing to be somewhere else, and to be a part of something more. No moments as magical as Sir Alec Guinness' first description of The Force in that same film, or Yoda's persistent spiritual bitchslapping of Luke in Episode V. Lucas seems unable to expedite such storytelling anymore. One questions whether he was ever able to do so to begin with, or if (as Francis Coppola indicated in Peter Biskind's book Easy Riders, Raging Bulls: How the Sex-Drugs-and-Rock 'n' Roll Generation Saved Hollywood) he simply chanced into such moments via great performers and external pressures which no longer exist.

Episodes I and II offer some of the strongest casting of many recent films, yet the casts are never utilized, never given material, dimension, or direction which allows them to shine. In Clones, no one catches a break – the desecration of performers in this movie is almost unparalleled.

The film's central focus – the "romance" between tediously-dull Padme (Natalie Portman) and desperate lapdog Anakin (Hayden Christensen) is stilted and undefined. A friend asked me why, if Anakin is such a punk-ass, volatile twerp, someone as refined as Padme would fall in love with him. And, you know what? I couldn't answer that question, because the chemistry is not on-screen, and it really makes no sense whatsoever given the information we have to work with. I guess it had to happen in order to get Luke and Leia conceived, but that's not a very good answer to a question which shouldn't have arisen to begin with. In the original trilogy, we immediately understood the attraction between Han and Leia, and instantly felt the dynamic which pulled them together. No such luck between Annie and Padme.

Again, this isn't because of the intrinsic talent of the actors – it's because what they have to work with is vapor. Many characters in this movie are desperately groping about, trying to find a "voice." Christensen's Anakin is whiney and abrasive. His vast potential shines through fleetingly, just enough to accentuate how woefully mishandled his over-all character is. He should have come across as someone akin to Alan Rickman's character in Die Hard, or James Franco's character in Spider-Man – someone likeable-but-seething, engaging-but-potentially explosive. Christensen brings none of these qualities to his role, arguably the most pivotal role in this new trilogy. If Anakin isn't a compelling person, his journey won't be compelling either.

Ewan McGregor, reprising his appearance as Obi-Wan Kenobi (a name misspelled in my copy of the Episode II screenplay, by the way), has clearly worked to refine his Alec Guinness impression, sometimes to haunting effect. But he is too much of a smart-ass, too-much of a nag – his caddy one-liners feel like second-rate zingers from a third-rate Schwarzenegger flick. It undermines his integrity, something of an op-phrase for Star Wars in-general these days.

Portman is icy and dingy as Padme. How people as boring as she and Anakin made kids as interesting as Luke and Leia is beyond me. There must be some recessive "coolness" gene running around in there, somewhere. She does get to kick a bit of ass, however, so fan-boys-in-need-of-a-masturbatory-idol and fan-girls-in-need-of-gender-affirmation will likely convince themselves she is a far more substantive character than she really is.

Christopher Lee's otherwise-stilted performance as Count Dooku (what a name) takes the saddest hit of all: a scripted sequence in which Dooku explains to Padme his motivations in overthrowing the Republic was excised from the final cut. The discussion actually made (what is to become) the Empire make sense, and outlined its motivations in a way which cast the whole saga in a slightly different light. Perhaps Lucas was uncomfortable taking such a firm stance about an element as important as this, or perhaps his penchant for revisionist history simply got the best of him. But such depth would have gone a long way towards making AotC less frivolous and more substantive than it currently is. If nothing else, it would have re-affirmed there is still a pulse beating somewhere within this sprawling concept.

All in all, no one gets anything to do here. Why cast Oscar-nominated performers if you aren't going to let them act? For status only? Is all of this about the spectacle, about "show", rather than legitimacy and integrity? Apparently so, which brings us back to Cecil B. DeMille, which brings us back to Attack of the Clones.

Episode II is a blueprint, and nothing more. It's up to us, the audience, to flesh-it-out and find the "truth" of its story, because Lucas either refuses to – or is afraid to – or cannot – commit. How so? During one of AotC¿s major battle sequences, he actually finds a way for girly-man-droid C-3PO to verbally apologize for action (and violence) happening on-screen. Defenders will argue that Threepio is apologizing for his own actions, which are suffered against his will. But that doesn't change the fact that the intensity of the scene is deliberately undercut by factoring unnecessary softness into the equation. If ever there was a testament to dramatic insincerity or conceptual uncertainty...

Would the forcible freezing and subsequent kidnapping of Han Solo in Empire play as well if Lando had cracked a one-liner in the Carbon Chamber? No. Attack of the Clones is chicken, which makes it difficult not to hold grave reservations about Episode III, which, conceptually, is supposed the darkest, harshest, and most mean-spirited of all Star Wars movies.

Bet it won't be.

While I dearly love A New Hope and The Empire Strikes Back, I certainly wouldn't call them particularly high-brow fare. However, for all their deficiencies, they at least realized they could be multi-layered and intelligent, without compromising entertainment value in the slightest. They had the vision to be more than they needed to be. Neither film chose the easy path, which took a courage, insight, and conviction long since forgotten by Lucas and his minions. If they still possess such qualities, they're certainly not evident here.